


See You On A Dark Night

by ironforged (sarisa), redpepperink



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Dubious Consent, Horror, M/M, Tony Stark and the supernatural, and after that it just gets a bit hand-wavey, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6875677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarisa/pseuds/ironforged, https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpepperink/pseuds/redpepperink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An It Follows AU. One lonely evening, Tony runs into an old friend. What happens the next morning tests his grip on reality in a way that even a futurist couldn't have predicted.</p><p>My Cap-Ironman RBB fic with redpepperink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See You On A Dark Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redpepperink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpepperink/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Art for "See You On a Dark Night"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6880126) by [ironforged (sarisa)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarisa/pseuds/ironforged), [redpepperink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpepperink/pseuds/redpepperink). 



> Inspired by the movie It Follows. Art by redpepperink, it is gorgeous and you should all go see it immediately.
> 
> Many, many thanks go to my amazing betas redpepperink and agaryulnaer, without whom this fic would not have been nearly as cohesive and coherent as it is. Kudos to onemuseleft for the excellent idea of an It Follows AU.
> 
>  

The Tower sounds empty.

It isn’t empty very often, anymore, but today it is- nobody around but Steve and his bionic bestie, Steve off on a run and Barnes probably in the guest room on Steve’s floor. Not that Tony keeps tabs on the other guy- okay, well, he’s not a stalker about it. Maybe he’s got some mixed feelings about Barnes being in his home, but he thinks that’s acceptable considering how the guy killed his parents… anyway. No need to go into that.

He’s not just going to go _blaming_ Barnes. He can sure as shit understand being forced to do something you never would have done otherwise- and Barnes had been a POW for a hell of a lot longer than the three months Tony spent in that cave in Afghanistan. Tony’s seen pictures of the machines- he’s seen the file Nat pulled for Steve. He doesn’t- he doesn’t blame Barnes, okay? But that doesn’t mean he wants to be besties, either. Maybe someday, but not now.

So here he is, floating in the pool and staring up at the vaguely pinkish-purple sky, courtesy of New York’s ever-present smog. He’d been puttering around the workshop, unable to focus one one project and dabbling in about six as a result, getting nothing done. Steve had literally run out to Brooklyn somewhere, earlier, buying art supplies, probably, maybe searching for stuff to bring back for Barnes like a puppy with a stuffed toy, hoping it’ll jog the guy’s memory. He hadn’t invited Tony along (probably because someone should be here in case of Barnes-related emergency), and Tony feels… at loose ends, a bit. He’d come up to get food and looked out the window and- hey, why not? He owns the pool. It’s his pool, he pays for it to be heated year round. Might as well actually use it.

The sun went down a while ago, and it’s really too cold to be out here, floating, but the pool’s heated and he’s too tired to move. The water’s warm, and his chest is cold where it’s exposed to the air, the reactor an ever-present hum, a reminder that his surgery date’s getting closer and closer whether he likes it or not. Everything’s changing. 

It’s quiet, with his ears below the surface. He stares up at the clouds, considering the fact that this is really a hole in the security, a pool on the roof, but who cares, really? Him. He should care. But caring seems like so much effort when the water feels so nice. He closes his eyes, enjoying the way his brain is turned off for once and purposefully not thinking about anything else.

It’s fully dark when he hears a muffled voice and opens his eyes, seeing Steve looking down at him from the edge of the pool. He’d floated almost to the side, and is pretty proud of the way he doesn’t flail and lose his balance in the water, standing up and looking (way, way) up at Steve.

“Hey Cap,” he says, shivering slightly as the air hits his wet skin.

“Not the best place to fall asleep, Tony,” Steve says, looking down at him with what Tony might term an affectionate expression.

“My pool, my rules,” Tony says, pulling himself up and out of the water. Water streams down over him and yes, he’s definitely cold now.

“Whatever you say.” Steve raises his brows, his eyes flickering down to the scars on Tony’s chest before he hands him a towel. “Just wanted to make sure you were still alive. I’m making dinner downstairs if you want some.” Making dinner for himself and Barnes post-twenty mile run, Tony supposes. Gotta inhale at least four thousand calories after that.

While Steve’s cooking is not something to be easily turned down, Tony shakes his head. He wouldn’t mind some company- the Tower feels uncomfortably empty, with the others gone for the weekend, Natasha off doing something she hadn’t discussed and Clint driving north through New England to see the fall leaves changing color, which sounds like pretty much the most boring thing Tony’s ever heard. But despite the lack of company, Tony’s not sure he’s up for dealing with Barnes right now. Nor, he suspects, is he in the mood for Steve’s laser focus on Bucky’s recovery, either. It can be intense, and it’s not even pointed at him.

“Thanks, but I think I’m going out for a while.” Disappointment flashes over Steve’s face, but only for a second, replaced by a polite smile.

“Well, if you change your mind,” he says, turning to head inside, “we’ll be around. Maybe we could introduce Buck to some Star Wars, later.” Tony had been the one to push for it, to push for Steve to watch all his favorite sci-fi movies, especially once he’d learned how much of a science fiction nerd Steve Rogers had been, back in the day.

“Yeah,” Tony says to his back, watching the muscles play under Steve’s tee shirt. “Yeah, maybe.”

***

An hour later, he’s sitting at a bar somewhere in Midtown (to be honest, he hadn’t been paying much attention to where other than that it was close by, although all the green and the Flogging Molly playing blasting through the speakers is making him think Irish pub), staring into his tumblr and stirring his drink with his cocktail straw. It’s his third, so it’s not like not downing it is a huge accomplishment, but he can’t help thinking back to what Pepper had said. Sure, he drinks a lot. His dad drank a lot, more than Tony does now. Obie drank. His mom drank, too, although not nearly as much as Howard had. Tony just likes the buzz, the feeling, it’s just who he is. He doesn’t think he drinks too _much-_

“This isn’t the last place I’d expect to see you,” a familiar voice says off to his right, “but it’s not at the top of the list.”

Tony looks up, brows going up slightly beneath his stupid ballcap (Mets, because he’s not actively suicidal- Rogers would _know_ if he wore Yankees gear). “Ty,” he says, startled. Tiberius Stone smiles down at him, looking much more out of place than Tony in a tailored three-piece. “Thought you were based in Seattle.”

“We are. Courting an investor.” Ty nods to the stool next to Tony, who feels abruptly underdressed in his jeans and band hoodie, so old the black’s turned purple.

Tony nods, looking across the bar. He can almost make out Ty through the dirty mirror and the whiskey bottles on the shelf across the way. This way, both their faces look fuzzy, warped. Sort of how he feels. He sips his drink, not offering to buy one for Ty. Ty can afford it, and Tony’s not sure how he feels about this conversation, a knot of memories he’d buried a long time ago shifting around in his gut. He doesn’t want to ask about Ty’s business, about his investor. He doesn’t care.

“Nice suit,” he says instead, because it is. Deep blue with wide gray pinstripes. Ty did always have good taste.

“You’re probably more used to hearing that than saying it,” Ty says. His voice is quiet and startlingly warm. Tony glances over, then wishes he hadn’t, because Ty’s smiling, and dammit, he does have a nice smile. He always had. Too bad nothing about it is real.

“Tony,” Ty starts after a moment, when Tony doesn’t say anything. “About Rumi-”

“Don’t.” Tony’s voice is flat. “Don’t talk about that.”

“I should have apologized-”

“There’s a lot of things you should have done. But you know what? We’re not talking about it. That’s the benefit to being the cheat-ee. I get to walk away from this conversation.” Tony spins around on his stool, deliberately hitting Ty none too gently in the hip, and starts to get up.

Ty doesn’t try to touch him, wisely, but unfortunately he does open his mouth. “Please don’t go.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Let me buy you a drink.” This time, he sounds almost pleading. It’s enough to get Tony to pause, if not for the reason Ty’s probably thinking. Tiberius Stone of Stone Incorporated doesn’t beg.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“Just to talk.” Tony snorts, turning to go. “Not about her!” Ty adds hurriedly. “Not about- what happened. I just- I saw you sitting here, it was stupid. I just missed you. I haven’t thought about you in years, Tony, I’m not going to lie, but I- I saw you, and I missed you.” He looks down, then away, and Tony wonders how he ever fell for the act. Probably because he was fifteen to Ty’s eighteen, an idiot kid who believed the lies people fed him. For a moment, Tony misses that innocence, for all that it had hurt afterwards. “Never mind. You should go. You’re right, you don’t have to talk to me.”

Tony just stands there and stares at him for a long moment before he lets out a breath. “Really?” he asks, feeling the angry energy draining out of his limbs. “You’re going to guilt me? That’s your play?”

Ty drags a hand through his hair, mussing it. “Maybe it is. I don’t know. It’s not supposed to be a play.” He doesn’t look up, stares at his glass. “I’m worn too fucking thin to play anyone.” The glance he throws the mirror above the bar, quick and nervous and trying not to be obvious about it, is almost enough to make Tony turn and walk away. He should. He really, really should. But now he’s curious, and maybe still just bitter enough to want to know what’s making Tiberius Stone so miserable.

“For old times’ sake, then,” he mutters, sitting back down. It’s been twenty years. Maybe he just wants to revel in the balance swinging back the other way, or maybe he should be mature. Maybe it’s time for some closure. “Just one. And only to remind myself how much I hate you.”

Ty smiles, very slightly, and his eyes are very blue. His hair looks like gold in the dim bar lighting, lighter than it is in real life, out in the sun. “I’ll take it.” He signals the bartender, who comes right over, sensing a tip. “Two, please.”

Two drinks later, Tony’s not drunk, but he’s definitely relaxed. Ty’s jacket is off, but he’s still wearing the tie, and it’s starting to do things to Tony’s brain. It’s blue, almost the same shade as his eyes. His shirt is blue, too, and it’s all just- it’s a really good look on him. Ty should always wear blue. Much like Steve should always wear blue- and usually does. They have very similar coloring. Tony’s never noticed this before. Even their hair is almost the same shade of dishwater blond. And they have the same strong jaw and sharp cheekbones.

He reaches up to touch Ty’s expensive haircut before he realizes what he’s doing, a few seconds too late to stop himself. Maybe he’s drunker than he thought. “This looks good,” he says, playing it casual as he lowers his hand, trying not to yank it away.

“Thanks,” Ty says, one corner of his mouth hooking up in a crooked smile.

The mouths are where it’s different. Ty has normal, if attractive, lips. Very kissable lips, if Tony recalls correctly (he definitely does). But they’re a normal sort of color, not like- well, Tony would have to be dead not to have noticed Steve’s lips, which are an annoyingly bright pink or red depending on the day, like he wears cherry lip gloss. He doesn’t, Tony is reasonably sure, just looks that way all on his own, and it is extremely distracting. Particularly in meetings when he’s yelling at Tony; that’s always the moment when Tony inevitably notices Steve’s mouth.

But then Ty glances to the side. Tony’s learned to spot tells well enough that he sees Ty’s eyes widen slightly, the micro-expression not completely hidden. It’s gone by the time he turns his attention back to Tony, though, and he brushes a hand over Tony’s collar, smoothing it against his skin. “Want to go for a walk?”

This is a very stupid idea.

***

He can feel the sun on his face even before he opens his eyes. It’s hot, and the air smells like dust, and he knows what he’s going to see even before he opens them, clenches them shut for a moment, as though that will make all of it disappear.

It doesn’t, to no one’s surprise.

Yep, very stupid idea. Someday, he’s going to stop letting Drunk Tony make decisions. Maybe eventually that advice will actually sink in.

He finally forces himself to look, squints at the bright sun and tries to remember the breathing patterns, just tries to take a deep breath. He can’t, though, can’t seem to inflate his lungs the whole way before they’re burning and he has to breathe again, in and out, faster and faster until he’s going to pass out, and that’ll just be great, at least he has a nice view, all the green fields and-

Wait. Green.

Not sand. Green.

Squinting, he tilts his head, tries to lift his hands to shade his eyes, but they don’t move. He’s cuffed to a flimsy-looking plastic and metal chair, next to the hood of a car out on a country road. This is more than a little disturbing, now that he’s startled himself out of his panic attack (more or less), because the last place he remembers being… is Manhattan. He is definitely not in Manhattan. No skyline in sight, which means he’s at the very least a fair few miles outside of the city.

He’s probably in Jersey.

Twisting around to get as close to a full three-sixty as he can, he sees a man moving around on the other side of the car. Sunlight glints off light blond hair as the man paces back and forth almost too quickly. For a moment, Tony thinks- but no, it’s not. First of all, even at Tony’s most annoying, Steve wouldn’t leave him tied to a chair in the middle of nowhere, and second, Tony definitely remembers the night before. The pool. The bar. Ty’s hotel room. Ty’s king size bed.

The sun on his head isn’t helping the throb of his hangover, which is rapidly reaching imprisoned-in-a-cave-after-major-surgery-with-no-access-to-alcohol proportions, but he’s cuffed to this flimsy beach chair, and his hands are cuffed _together_. Whatever reason Ty has for apparently leaving him out here like bait for a hungry dragon is negligible- if he can’t get himself out of these cuffs, he doesn’t deserve to call himself an Avenger.

He is admittedly only wearing his shirt and his boxers, the arc reactor on full display, but never let it be said that Tony Stark is unprepared. He’s like a boy scout, or like he assumes a boy scout would be if he hadn’t been kicked out after two weeks. Whatever.

“You know,” he calls over his shoulder in Ty’s direction, his voice hoarse, “I know I said I was open to whatever kinks you’re into, but this is a little weird. Even for you.” And Ty had been into some weird shit when they were younger.

He’s not an expert on date rape, but this seems out of order, because he’d definitely been ready and willing and not drugged, the night before. Several times. And then Ty had handed him that bottle of water, and he’d been blissed out enough to take it. Because he’s a moron, and he’s known Ty for three-quarters of his life, and you’d think after Obie he’d learn not to trust old friends.

Well, here he is, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey (are turkeys even trussed up?), ready and waiting in his boxers for Hydra to swoop down. He’s right next to a car, and Ty’s all the way over there. This can’t possibly be a serious abduction.

He’s so disgruntled at himself, at the absurdity of this kidnapping (it’s just insulting), that he doesn’t notice the change in temperature at first. It only drops a degree or two, in his defense, and he’s already in his skivvies. But he does notice when someone blocks out the sun.

“You’re awake.”

No point in faking now. God, how had Ty gotten so close? The drugs must still be affecting him- funny, he doesn’t feel woozy or out of it, but it’s entirely possible. He pauses in his efforts to pick the handcuffs for a brief moment, looking up at Ty, who’s suddenly standing very close. “You always did have a talent for stating the painfully obvious.”

“I’m sorry,” Ty says. He doesn’t add anything to that, and Tony fights down the twist in his gut. In every movie he’s ever seen, an apology like that has never meant good things for the recipient.

“You can make it up to me in the form of my never seeing you again,” Tony mutters, twisting his wrists in the cuffs and trying to get some kind of leverage- _something_. He’s Iron Man, for fuck’s sake. He saves the world on a bi-monthly basis, and the city of New York more often than that. But right now he’s stripped down to his skivvies, and none of the sessions of “break out of the cuffs while Natasha watches and mocks” will help him if he doesn’t have anything to use to pick the cuffs.

Breaking the chair it is, then. It’s an old metal wheelchair, not exactly sturdy. Apply his body weight to the correct angle with enough force, and there’s a good chance he could break the thing into enough pieces to get free. Or he’ll end up on the ground in the twisted remains of the chair, still cuffed. Hell, though, it’s not like he’s ever been all that concerned with his dignity. He can definitely get at least one good jump in before Ty can cross the twenty feet between them- if he approaches at all. He doesn’t look too eager to do so.

In fact, he’s backing up a bit, putting the car between him and Tony with a- well, if Tony didn’t know better (and he supposes he doesn’t), he’d say that look falls under ‘scared shitless.’

“It’s him!” Ty shouts suddenly. He’s looking past Tony, and Tony’s head whips around.

There’s a man, a tall, lean, naked man about fifty feet away in the field, and his face is blandly, boringly handsome.

Tony goes very still, watching, but the man just… walks towards them. Slowly, steadily, never loses his balance in the tall grass, just keeps walking. Tony stays still, and then starts trying to move the chair again. The brakes aren’t on, and if he twists enough, throws himself backwards, the chair moves a few inches before it stops.

The man keeps coming closer, less than twenty feet now, reaching out, and Tony flails, adrenaline shooting through him as he kicks, panicked and completely helpless. It doesn’t smile. It doesn’t acknowledge that he’d reacted at all, just reaches for him with an oddly elegant-looking hand.

“No,” he snarls, his voice strangled by the position his head and throat are twisted into. “No, _don’t_ , _get off-”_ But the hand keeps coming anyway, no matter how he tries to contort his body away from it, and there’s nothing he can do. There’s something terribly wrong about the man, about that hand, it doesn’t make sense to panic so much about one naked freak reaching out to touch him but he’s not a fan of being touched to begin with and this is a thousand times worse-

Abruptly his vantage point shifts as someone lifts the chair, and he tries to flail again, but the chair is already moving backwards, bouncing on the dirt, and Ty is going at top speed for the car. Tony twists his head around to look behind them; the man’s still following, but it’s just walking.

“What the fuck?!” he gasps. Ty’s almost wheezing with effort, but he keeps running.

“I had to show you.” Ty reaches the car, skids to a stop, and one of the chair wheels hits the back bumper. “You had to see. You’re not going to believe me, but I didn’t have a choice. Somebody gave it to me. It was going to kill me. I had to-” Tony stares at him, then back behind at the thing still walking towards them.

“Ty, come on!”

“It’s going to keep following you.” Ty unlocks the trunk, rustles frantically around inside. “It can look like anyone. Like someone you know, like a stranger, like- like someone you love. Whatever means it can get close to you.” He comes out, holding a cloth, and spins the chair around to give Tony a good look at the naked man, who has never sped up, never slowed down, is just still walking towards them. “Just pass it along to someone else, okay? You’re Iron Man, if anyone can deal with this thing, it’s you. Fuck someone else and it’ll start following them. If it catches you, it’ll kill you, and then it’ll come for me.”

“Maybe I should let it,” Tony hisses. “At this point in my life, I probably shouldn’t be surprised when old friends drug me, tie me to lawn chairs, and sic murderous whatever-the-fucks on me. Story of my goddamn life.”

“Never go into a place that doesn’t have more than one exit,” Ty says, panting in Tony’s ear as he shoves the cloth-covered hand onto Tony’s face. “It’s slow but it’s not stupid.”

Tony’s almost glad for the chloroform. Doesn’t mean he fights any less, and he’s pretty sure he headbutts Ty somewhere painful, but it’s almost a relief to feel his eyes drop closed.

***

The impact of his body hitting concrete jolts him out of the blackness. He’s vaguely aware of the sound of a car engine revving and tires squealing against the pavement, but then everything goes dark again. He dreams sporadically, flashes of JARVIS’ voice, sounding more alarmed than he’s ever heard it, but he can’t make out the words. Other sounds make it into the dream, too, Rhodey calm and soothing, Steve angry and frightened beneath the Cap voice™ as he barks orders. The scream of an ambulance, the feeling of everything going topsy turvy as he’s rolled onto a gurney.

Motion’s always knocked him out, though, and what awareness he has is gone when the ambulance starts moving. The next time he opens his eyes is inside an MRI machine, thumping and beeping away.

He’s Iron Man. If he was claustrophobic, if he didn’t like small, coffin-like spaces, he’d have a problem. But this is- not good. He needs to be out. He needs to be away. His breathing starts to pick up. He can feel his pulse thundering in his ears.

“Mr. Stark?” a voice says over the intercom. “I’m Dr. Gupta. Mr. Stark, you’re in the hospital. You’re having an MRI. We need you to stay still for a minute, all right? Can you do that for me?”

“Help,” Tony tries, shifting on the hard surface he’s lying on. His throat feels like somebody went at it hard with some industrial grade sandpaper. He’s not managing a lot of volume. “Help me,” he tries again. But no one turns off the machine; no one comes to pull him out.

“Excuse me,” comes over the speaker, as though it’s picking up someone on the other side of the room. It’s Steve’s voice that sounds next, loud and clear. “Tony, it’s Steve. The doctors say you have to stay still- are you okay with that?”

Tony closes his eyes, forces himself to take a deep breath. Forces it out again, like he’s trying to blow into a trumpet or something. It… helps. “I- maybe. Think so.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “Okay, Shellhead. Better now than having to do it all over again later, you’re almost halfway done. Good job.”

“Okay,” Tony echoes, forcing the word out.

“They said they can put some music on for you. Do you want some AC-DC?”

“No,” Tony manages. “No, can you-”

“Of course,” Steve says quickly. “I’m not going anywhere. Say, did I ever tell you about the time when the Commandos dressed up like ladies in a brothel? Bucky makes a pretty lady with his face all made up, let me tell you…”

Tony spends twenty more minutes in that white coffin of a machine, but it’s easier to keep breathing while Steve’s voice washes over him. He doesn’t laugh where he’s supposed to, he thinks, can’t really laugh at all, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind, just keeps going on.

***

They move him to a room once the MRI’s finished. Coming out of the white tunnel feels like a breath of fresh air, and he stares at the ceiling as they push him to a room in the ICU in a wheelchair. The doctor asks him what happened, but he’s not sure what to say. There’s a policeman, too, because Tony Stark was kidnapped so of course there must be. Never mind that he was kidnapped and no one knew about it until the kidnapper brought him back.

“I don’t remember,” is all he says. “They drugged me. I don’t remember.”

Rhodey sits next to him on the bed, Steve pacing next to the open doorway, looking too big for the little room. “Tony,” Rhodey says quietly. He doesn’t try to touch Tony. Tony appreciates it. “The doctor said they found signs-”

“No,” Tony says shortly.

“Tony, I don’t want to make you go through it, but-”

“It- I went back to Ty’s place, out of the city. We fucked. Then he drugged me.”

Steve turns to look at the bed, looking gut-punched, and Tony doesn’t look at him. He keeps his eyes on Rhodey, who seems to be choosing his words carefully. “Are you sure, Tony? You said you didn’t remember-”

“Sex, _then_ kidnapping _,”_ Tony says.

“And you know that, even though you can’t remember what happened.”

“Yep.”

Rhodey looks like he wants to call bullshit, but he doesn’t, at least for the moment. “JARVIS tracked the car. Stone managed to evade the cameras; drove it out of the city with a hat and sunglasses on, left it at a gas station out of sight of the cameras. We’re still looking for him.”

Tony nods. Rhodey just looks at him, but Tony moves his gaze to the sheets in his lap. After a moment or two of silence, Rhodey leaves, sending Steve a look on his way out. Steve moves over to the chair next to the bed, but he doesn’t say anything, not for a long time. It’s a relief; Tony doesn’t really want to talk. Mostly he wants to sleep.

He lowers the bed down but leaves the light on over the headboard. The ICU is bustling outside the door, and it’s a relief. In the quiet, he’d just be listening for a sound out of the ordinary.

When he wakes up, everything’s calmer outside his room, and Steve’s asleep in the chair next to the bed. Tony turns to look out the window, seeing the sun going down behind the buildings outside. It turns the window into a mirror, and he stares into it for a while without really seeing, watching people pass by the open doorway.

He doesn’t really notice when it gets quieter. The noise dies down incrementally until all he’s hearing is silence and his own heartbeat in his ears.

And the footsteps. They echo strangely on the linoleum, and slowly he sits up, feeling his heart starting to beat faster. He listens, entirely focused on that one sound, slow, steady footsteps coming down the hall towards him, accompanied by a periodic creak, like a wheel needing some oil.

He’s sitting up the whole way, shoving himself to the back of the bed, and it’s closer, they’re coming closer. His heart feels like it’s about to burst- he’s got diminished lung capacity, his lungs can’t handle this shit, it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not happening-

The footsteps reach the hallway outside his room and stop, a nurse pushing a cart stepping into view. She looks in and nods to him, and continues on.

Tony sags against the wall, his chest heaving and his pulse pounding in his ears. He listens to her walk along down the hall, getting further and further away, until it’s silent again. 

Just his imagination. It’s all just his imagination. That thought is almost enough to get him to go back to sleep; what makes him manage it in the end is reaching over to where Steve has his head pillowed on the side of the bed, and laying his hand next to Steve’s, their fingers just barely touching. He’s almost fully out of it when Steve’s hand moves, sliding over to cover Tony’s.

Tony sleeps.

***

He wakes the next morning ready to go home and deal with the situation. Dr. Gupta does not approve of this plan, to say the least, but there’s nothing physically wrong with Tony. The MRI came back clean, he doesn’t have any broken bones or anything worse than bruises from the concrete, and there’s no sign of a concussion. The doctors had their night of observation, and Tony is checking himself the hell out.

Neither Rhodey nor Steve agrees with the idea, either, but legally they can’t stop him. And Tony no longer feels like he’s about to pass out at any moment; in fact, he feels marvelously back to normal. Nothing wrong, the whole thing just a drug-induced figment of his imagination, coupled by too many late night low-grade horror movies playing in the background while he’d worked in the shop. 

He’s standing at the nurse’s station signing paperwork when movement catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. There’s no reason why someone walking down the hall should catch his eye. A hospital’s a busy place, and there are about six people in that hall, walking or standing and looking at charts. The woman with the cart is there, too, passing out clean sheets.

But there’s a tall man at the far end walking towards Tony down the hall, and Tony can’t help but stare. It’s not- not the tall man- not the same man as the one he’d- no. This one is broader, and bald, with a thick, heavy beard. He’s wearing a suit, and he’s too far away, there are too many people in between them for Tony to be able to tell-

No. Logically not possible, no. Dead is dead. Death certificates, a burial of what was left- Tony had watched him burn in his own suit. No one could have survived that blast. But Obadiah Stane is walking towards him, and no one in the hall even acknowledges his presence. He’s walking, and he’s not stopping, not pausing, he’s getting closer and Tony-

Is leaving. “That’s all you need from me, right? Yep, good, thanks. Bye.” He drops the pen on the counter and turns to walk away, ignoring Steve and Rhodey calling after him. They follow, but they’re further back, they’re behind Obie, can’t they see?

Steve might not recognize him, but Rhodey should, Rhodey knew him, he was there. Tony fastwalks all the way out to the parking garage, taking the stairs at a run, too fast for his stiff muscles. “I have to go,” he says when Steve grabs his arm. Pulls him to the side, sees Obie coming down the stairs behind him in the stairwell. “No no let me go, don’t you see him? _Steve, let me go-”_

“Tony! What’s going on- see who?!” He turns, looks around, as though Obie wasn’t feet away, his arm reaching for Tony. “There’s no one- Tony!”

Tony breaks free of Steve’s grip with a desperate burst of strength and takes off running down the stairs, not looking back.

He doesn’t stop until he’s outside and hailing a cab. “Stark Tower. Make it there in five and I will tip you a thousand dollars.”

The cabbie accelerates into traffic like he’s auditioning for NASCAR.

Tony twists in the seat and stares out the back window. Just as they turn the corner, he sees the parking garage door open, but he doesn’t have time to see who exits before they’re out of sight.

***

JARVIS alerts him when Rhodey and Steve return to the Tower, only a few minutes after Tony locks himself in the lab and opaques the glass, giving himself a controlled space where he can shoot anyone who comes through the door. And because the idea of putting on the suit feels like giving in and admitting this is actually happening, he veers away from that. Next best thing is Mark 53 on sentry duty at the door, ready to blow not-Obie’s head off his shoulders.

Steve lets this go for about three hours before he taps on the glass. Tony, who’s been watching the security cameras from the hospital and trying to convince himself that he’d just been hallucinating, glances over at the door. Not-Obie probably wouldn’t knock. “J?”

“ _Captain Rogers requests entrance, Sir._ ”

Tony considers refusing, and then considers the likelihood of Steve using his override code (high). Tony had given it to him in case of emergency, should Tony be incapacitated and JARVIS unable to disobey an order to keep everyone out. Without Pepper or Rhodey living in the tower full-time, it had been the best plan, and honestly, the idea of Steve having it makes Tony feel quietly, secretly safer.

“Yeah, let him in,” he mutters.

The door disengages with a hiss, and Steve steps inside to find Tony wearing the prototype portable repulsors he’s been lately testing. They don’t have the blasting power of the ones hooked to the suit, and they have a tendency to send him back a few feet whenever he fires, but they’re effective, and damned if he’s taking them off right now.

“Okay,” Steve says slowly, raising his hands and not arguing when the door hisses shut behind himself. “Rhodey argued for giving you some more time, but I think you’ve had long enough.”

“Rhodey’s got a lot of past experience,” Tony counters, stepping around to the other side of the workbench, keeping his back to the wall.

“He does,” Steve says. He stops moving in the middle of the room and doesn’t try to follow Tony. “Can I put my hands down?” Tony’s not pointing the repulsors at him, but he’s asking anyway, and Tony thinks he appreciates that.

“It’s a free country.” Tony doesn’t move from the other side of the workbench.

“Sure is.” Steve smiles briefly, but then his expression sobers. “So.”

“So.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Okay.” Steve’s expression is remarkably unperturbed. “I’ll talk, then. Stop me if you want to add anything.”

Tony lifts his brows, but Steve continues on, apparently taking that as agreement. “You ran out the hospital, on foot, didn’t call the suit. Ran away from me and Rhodey like you’d seen a ghost. Now you’re here, locked in the workshop, on guard, but you won’t talk to anyone about it. You’ve gotta understand, this is mildly concerning, Shellhead.”

“Mildly,” Tony echoes, almost on a laugh.

“Well, you didn’t jump into the suit and fly to… I don’t know, Timbuktu or Antarctica or the moon, so I’d say mildly.”

Despite himself, Tony can feel the fear untwisting a little in his gut, and he presses his lips together in what’s almost a smile.

“Tony.” He looks up at Steve again, hadn’t even realized that he’d been staring at the floor for a minute, lost in thought. Steve’s voice has quieted. He’s not talking to Tony like he’s a frightened kid, but he does sound worried. “You were kidnapped. It’s perfectly reasonable to be nervous after something like that happens to you, but this doesn’t look like that kind of nerves.”

“I’m fine,” Tony says, narrowing his eyes.

“Sure,” Steve says. They stare at each other for a minute, then another, until Steve finally sighs. “We just want to help. Obviously something’s going on. But you want to deal with it on your own, that’s your choice, Tony. You let us know if you want any help.” He turns, and starts to go. Tony watches him, arms folded defensively. The lab door swings shut and he paces for a moment before he gives up. Fine. Whatever.

He catches up with Steve on his way down the hallway; Steve’s waiting by the elevator, and he doesn’t look surprised to see Tony at all, which Tony finds mildly offensive. He’s not _that_ easy to manipulate.

“The others are waiting on the common floor,” is all Steve says as he leads the way into the elevator. Tony snorts.

“Great, yeah, come upstairs with the amnesiac assassin. So reassuring.” Steve doesn’t even shoot him a look for the sarcasm, and the fact that he doesn’t leap immediately to his best friend’s defense is a clear indication of how off everything is. Tony finds the thought of Barnes oddly reassuring, somehow. As they exit the elevator, Barnes sits on the back of the couch, boots on the cushions, and he looks about as wary as a guard dog, flipping a knife slowly through his fingers as he watches them approach. But he stays very still, and Tony appreciates that more than he can say, even if Barnes can’t know why he’s wary of anyone walking towards him.

When this is all over, he’s going to have a brand new “eccentricity” to deal with. Just great.

Rhodey walks up the steps after him and Steve, and Tony skitters sideways, almost bowling Steve over as he moves to face his own best friend. “Stop moving,” he hisses. Brows raised, Rhodey does, halts completely and holds up the beers he’d retrieved from the kitchen.

“It’s all good, Tones,” he says, and the lack of sympathy or reassurance in his tone makes Tony feel slightly better. He sounds just like normal Rhodey, because Tony isn’t hallucinating. This is actually happening to him.

There are two exits out of this room. Three, actually, if you count the ramp down to the labs, plus the stairs and the elevator. Or, alternately, through the window in the armor.

Rhodey sets down the beer, and he and Steve sit, Steve sitting down on the couch below where Bucky’s perched. Tony can’t stay still, though; there’s nowhere to sit here where his back will be to a wall, and he just can’t settle.

They want to know what happened to him. So he tells them.

They’re silent when he finally falls silent, ending the story with his flight back to the Tower from the hospital.

Steve’s staring down at his hands, Rhodey is watching Tony, and Bucky looks… thoughtful. Tony’s not sure he likes that expression on the assassin’s face.

“So,” he says, hooking his fingers behind his head and finally stopping his pacing. “Either I’m hallucinating, which is a strong possibility, in which case this is probably all due to drugs and nothing that happened since the night before last is real, or this is actually happening and I’m being stalked by a ghost or demon or whatever it is, if you believe in that kind of thing.” Left unspoken but very clear is that Tony most definitely does not. Believe in it, that is.

And yet, he’s a man of science, and he was chased by the image of his dead godfather this morning. The question, really, is whether he can trust his senses.

Rhodey says, in the calming voice that he’s been using on Tony for all twenty-plus years of their friendship, “Tony, none of us saw Obie this morning. We were ten feet down the hall from you. I would have noticed Obadiah Stane in the hallway.”

Tony nods. Relevant data.

“We didn’t see anyone chasing you,” Steve says, looking up at Tony, and then at Bucky who wasn’t there. He sounds uncertain, though. “But… if it’s haunting you, maybe we can’t. See it, I mean.”

Tony swallows, fights to keep his expression even. “You believe me?”

“I believe that you believe it,” Steve says slowly. “And it could be real. Your MRI came back clean, and blood tests would have shown any drugs in your system.”

“The simplest explanation is most often the truth,” Tony argues. “And the simplest explanation is that I’m hallucinating.”

“Do you really want to base your safety on that?” Steve counters. “We’ve seen mind control, portals to the other side of the universe. Alien life is verified, and a lot of it’s hostile. Thor does what we would consider magic on a daily basis, but on Asgard it’s science. How hard is it to believe that there’re things out there we can’t see?”

“An invisible thing that follows people around like an STD, though?” Rhodey says doubtfully. “If it’s some kind of drug, it could be one the tests couldn’t pick up on.” He looks back up at Tony and quickly adds, “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. Just trying to-”

“I know,” Tony says shortly, dragging his hands down over his face. “It’s fine, I know.”

Steve stands and moves to stand in front of Tony, who slowly lowers his hands from in front of his face. “Tony,” he says, and there’s the Captain voice, the one that both brooks no argument and makes Tony want to argue with him til the end of time. “It doesn’t sound like we can conclusively say what’s going on. I say we treat it as though it _is_ an external threat, until we can prove otherwise. The others will be back in a day or so- we hold down the fort until the situation’s resolved in Asia and then we all put our heads together and deal with it.”

“You need more data,” Bucky says from the couch, speaking up for the first time. He’d been following the conversation, watching each of them carefully as they spoke, but now he’s looking just at Tony, head tilted slightly to the side. “With us in the room, to see if we can see it.”

That… is actually true, that’s exactly what Tony needs. And if he wasn’t losing his mind so much over this, he probably would have thought of that himself, but he’s not going to complain about the help.

He points at Barnes. “Terminator’s right. We need data.” He looks back at Steve, who nods.

“Okay. At least one of us is with you at all times. We’ll keep you safe. Not being able to see it doesn’t mean we can’t hit it.” His jaw clicks a little, and Tony tries to ignore his response to that. Not the time, Stark.

Rhodey nods and gets to his feet. “We’ll set up shifts. Wouldn’t hurt to have more than one person, if we can manage it. And JARVIS will keep an eye out, too, right?”

“ _Indeed, Colonel. Though my systems have yet to detect an anomaly, I will continue to keep a continuous watch, and monitor Sir’s vitals. If we cannot otherwise detect Sir’s attacker, that may serve as an adequate alert._ ”

This is why Tony ran home to the Tower. He closes his eyes, sure (as he is every time JARVIS proves his immeasurable worth) that he has never appreciated the AI more than he does in this moment. “Thanks, J.”

_“Of course, Sir.”_

So he goes back to the lab, this time with Rhodey. He tries to work, but he can’t focus, and after a while he gives up, joins Rhodey on the couch. They turn on an old movie, one with detectives and girl Fridays, and Tony dozes briefly, exhaustion overcoming him.

Rhodey urges him up to the penthouse after a while, and he finally really goes to sleep, feeling safe enough with Steve and Rhodey out in the living room to let himself rest. Barnes is apparently ghosting through the building, patrolling, and where a few days ago that would have made Tony paranoid, not knowing exactly where the assassin might be, it’s somehow reassuring now.

He wakes again to the sound of tinkling glass.

Rhodey, dozing in the chair next to the wall of windows, sits up straight, gun drawn. Tony wants to insist he go get it, wants to back into the corner of the room, but he can’t. He’d never be able to look himself in the mirror again if he freaked out that much over some broken glass.

“Tony, stay here,” Rhodey says, standing and moving towards the door. Tony ignores him, following on his heels and pulling on the repulsors. Rhodey shoves him to a stop at the doorway, clearing the room before he moves slowly over to the kitchenette island and checks behind it. “Nothing here,” he reports. “Just a broken scotch glass.”

Tony leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, relief pouring through his muscles. “JARVIS, what broke it?”

There’s no response, only a faint hum through the speakers. Tony’s eyes open slowly again. “What the hell?” Rhodey says slowly.

Tony activates the repulsors, straightening. He has to look. There’s nothing there, Rhodey said so, but he has to look. He does.

So he looks.

It’s there. Of course it’s there. It’s staring right at him.

He shouts, jumping back against the wall, repulsors up and raised. Rhodey spins, his gun back up. “Tony, what--?!”

Standing next to the kitchen island, Steve stares at him. But it’s… it’s not Steve. Steve’s eyes aren’t sunken. His face isn’t twisted, somehow, deathly pale and glistening like… ice. Like he’s covered in ice. It cracks as he moves forward, walking straight towards Tony, tiny steps, a few inches at a time. Water drips, leaves puddles on the floor in place of footprints. He’s barefoot, wearing the same tee shirt and jeans Tony’s seen him in all day. His hands hang limply at his sides, and water drips from his fingertips, too.

It’s on the other side of the room, but it won’t stop. It’ll only take a moment to get too close, to block Tony’s escape routes. He doesn’t bother asking if it’s really Steve. Of course it’s not Steve. It’s some facsimile of Steve, its twisted version of what will horrify Tony, pulled somehow from his mind.

“It’s there, it’s _right there--”_ Tony lifts the repulsors and fires. He doesn’t think about doing it, but the movement is long since muscle memory. The repulsors go straight through the thing, and blast a hole into the wall behind it, leaving smoke and plaster behind. Shaking, Tony turns up the power, fires again. The wall behind it is slightly on fire now, and Tony can hear Rhodey yelling, but it’s like he’s far away, and all Tony can hear are its wet, dripping footsteps as it comes closer. He fires at full power, sending himself careening back into the wall, but it doesn’t even flinch. Scrambling to his feet, he runs for the door. It reaches out an arm, and he misses its fingertips, curled into claws, by inches. He can feel the air from its grab move his shirt, and then he’s running full tilt into the stairwell, bolting down in a panic, unable to think about anything but getting away away _away away._

It grabs him, three floors down. Hooks its arms around his waist and how did it get there, how did it get ahead of him-- he flails, twists, doesn’t have enough breath to spare to swear. All he can do is struggle to get away, to get free and run. But he’s shoved back up against the wall, its arms wrapped around him, holding his arms to his side and-- oh, it’s warm, isn’t it, he didn’t think it’d be warm--

“Tony!” It’s shouting at him. The sound is far away at first, but it gets louder. “Tony! _Tony_! It’s me!”

He swallows, finally able to hear over the roaring in his ears. “Steve?” he whispers. He’s so warm. Tony feels cold, everything feels cold, but Steve’s arms are warm beneath his tee shirt.

“Yeah,” Steve says. And then he flushes slightly, and his arms loosen as he takes a step back. “Yeah, Tony.” He looks up, the flush disappearing as he visibly moves back into alert mode. He reaches up, speaks into his comm. “I got him.”

There are footsteps coming down the steps after them, and Rhodey appears on the next landing a few seconds later, gun still drawn.

“What the _hell_ ,” he growls. “I couldn’t see shit, Tony, was that it?!”

“Yeah.” Tony keeps his back pressed to the wall. “Yeah, that was it. It’s- it looked like Steve. A really fucked up version of Steve.” He looks down at his hands. “The repulsors didn’t do anything, not even on full power. Went right through him.”

“Yeah, you’re going to need some new cabinets.” Rhodey runs a hand over the back of his head and looks back up the way he’d come. “Nothing was there. I _swear_ nothing was there.”

“It’s invisible to you,” Tony says numbly. His eyes tick up to Steve. “Where’s Barnes?”

“Here.” Tony jumps as door to the landing below them opens, and Bucky comes up the steps to join them. He holds up his phone, his eyes on Tony. “It affected JARVIS. Comms and speakers were nonfunctional.”

“Gimme that.” Tony starts down the stairs to meet him, just as a small, emaciated-looking woman steps through the door behind Barnes, just before it closes. The sound Tony makes is somewhere between a yell and a scream, and he throws himself backwards up the stairs again.

Steve hooks him around the waist, yanking him up and out of sight as Rhodey jumps down. Neither he nor Barnes can see it, though, and Rhodey shouts up at Tony, “Tell us where it is!”

Tony swallows and peers down over the railing between the landings. Sure enough, there it is, an ancient-looking old woman more bones than skin. It looks up at him and, chin still tilted up, starts towards Tony again, its eyes like dark pits. It doesn’t blink. “First step, hand on the center railing,” Tony says. He points. Rhodey shoots, but the shots pass right through it the same way the repulsor had, ricocheting against the concrete walls. Rhodey ducks, and Bucky steps up, pulls out something Tony can’t make out, and fires it.

Electricity arcs through the air, and there’s a sizzle and a shriek just on the edge of human hearing. It disappears into thin air, leaving behind the smell of ozone and rot.

Tony slumps against the railing, looking down at them and then up at Steve. “It’s gone.” He stares at Barnes. “What the fuck did you use?”

Bucky looks down at the object in his hand and then holds it up for Tony's inspection. "Found it in the workshop."

"Is that," Tony starts, leaning down further to look at it. Steve, having a better sense of preservation for Tony than Tony has for himself, puts a hand on his chest to keep him from tipping, which Tony decides to just go with, because he may still be shaking a little. Only slightly.

And yes, indeed that is the taser he's been making on commission for Thor. Lewis' birthday's coming up, and Thor had made a special request. "That thing is definitely not street legal, and also it's not yours. As in, it was on my workbench this morning." Probably. He might not have been looking for it, exactly- he'd been slightly distracted.

He straightens, starting back down the stairs to snatch it back from Barnes, but he doesn't have to. Barnes just holds it out. "You said no guns and no knives," he says. "I followed the rules."

"Pretty sure there is also a rule against stealing stuff from my shop," Tony mutters. Rhodey, the biggest thief of them all, just snorts, and looks down at the taser that had just saved Tony from that thing, when the rest of their guns hadn't done it. Tony sighs. Fair point.

"You can rank your rules in order of importance once we get you somewhere secure," Steve says, following Tony back down the stairs and visibly still on edge. It's not a suggestion, and Tony doesn't argue as he's ushered down to the workshop, where he immediately sets about returning JARVIS to rights as the other three secure the workshop doors. Looks like they're having a sleepover tonight.

"My apologies, Sir," the AI says, sounding uncharacteristically subdued. "I'm not certain what happened." And for an all-powerful, near-omniscient intelligence, that has to be rough. Tony would know, he thinks, and then mentally smacks himself on Rhodey's behalf.

"Not your fault, Jay," Tony says, and where the words might sound brisk, his tone does not. He doesn't have a way of putting a hand on JARVIS' shoulder the way he might Rhodey or Pepper, but the sentiment is there all the same.

"As you say, Sir."

Tony turns away from the terminal to find the other three staring at him. He takes a deep breath."Okay. Let's do this."

"I don't understand why repulsors don't work on the thing but the taser does," Rhodey says, looking frustrated. "Unless we're talking about the difference in concussive energy versus electricity, but the muons in the repulsor blasts also carry an electrical charge-"

"Unless it's more of a difference in how they're deployed that causes the damage, rather than the structure of the particles," Tony points out. "If it's somehow not affected physically by things, kinetic force might not cause damage, but hit it with a few thousand volts..."

Rhodey sends him a look. "You know," he muses, "this sounds a lot like you're arguing that supernatural things can affect electromagnetic fields after all, and vice versa."

Tony leans back on his stool as though he's been struck, and points his screwdriver straight at Rhodey. "Do not bring that sad imitation of science into this conversation-"

"Okay, if this isn't a ghost, then what is it?"

"Something scientifically verifiable!"

Rhodey just raises a brow at him. "Okay, so there's a lack of scientific proof and then there's just purposefully deluding yourself."

Steve looks at Bucky, who appears to be confused. "One of Tony's favorite things is shouting at TV shows about ghost hunters," he explains. Bucky just looks perplexed.

"How do you hunt a ghost?"

"For the entertainment value," Rhodey answers before Tony can get out whatever it is he's opening his mouth to say. He shuts it again, looking disgruntled.

It's admittedly nice to see him looking more like himself, but he and Rhodes will argue about this all day and night if given the chance, so Steve takes advantage of the pause in conversation, heading them off before they can start up again. "Can you guys grab us the leftovers from the kitchen?" he suggests, gesturing to the empty beer bottles on the scuffed coffee table. "And maybe a refill. I'll stay with Tony."

"Be prepared to be tased on your way back in," Tony adds, waving what looks like a makeshift cattle prod in their direction, apparently the result of his tinkering for the last half hour as they'd recapped what had happened in the stairwell. Steve stays far out of his reach.

They go, Bucky sending Steve a significant look that Steve chooses not to interpret for the moment. Right now is not the time.

Tony's muttering to JARVIS about machining large metal plates, and Steve, for the moment, decides he doesn't want to know. Whatever it is, it'll probably both work and give him a simultaneous heart attack, but right now he has something specific to discuss.

"Tony," he tries. Tony doesn't glance up, is absorbed in whatever idea he's working through, and Steve steps closer. He doesn't try to touch Tony, knows better than that, but he raises his voice, clears his throat. " _Tony._ "

Tony sighs, eyes him sidelong. "Steve."

"I need to talk to you." Tony turns to face him, spinning a screwdriver in his hand, because he is incapable of staying still, but Steve doesn't comment on it. "This... thing. Ghost, demon, whatever you're calling it- I don't care what you're calling, Tony," he adds, and Tony closes his mouth, annoyed at being headed off from his argument. "I'm trying to say that I want you to sleep with me."

The screwdriver hits the floor with a clank.

Tony gapes at Steve, the color draining out of his face, but Steve gives no indication that he's kidding. In fact, he looks like he's facing a firing squad, his jaw jutting out sharply enough to cut glass. "You- what?" he manages.

Steve looks like he’s walking into a firing squad. “I want you to-”

“No, I heard that part,” Tony snaps. “What I want to know is- what the hell, Rogers?”

Steve’s jaw is set. “Tony, I’m more capable of fighting this thing hand to hand. This way, you can be safe while we think of a way-”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there,” Tony says. “Because one, you are not more capable than me-”

“In terms of physical strength, I _am_ -”

“ _AND TWO_ , I don’t need you to protect me! I don’t need you to keep me safe!”

“It’s what a team does!” Steve’s in his face, now, and the situation is alarmingly familiar, feels just like the day they’d argued on the helicarrier. Except this time, there’s no sceptre pushing them into the fight. Just them. “They help each other! We compensate for each other’s strengths! This is what I’m best at, Tony. Let me deal with holding this thing off.”

Tony stares at Steve, his mouth open slightly. Steve’s in his face, inches away, and Tony’s not sure if he wants to deck him or kiss him, honestly. But he has that reaction around Steve a lot, if he’s honest with himself (he rarely is). If he hasn’t given into it before, now is definitely not the time.

Now is also not the time to think about how it feels, that Steve would sleep with him to keep him safe. He’s never so much as glanced in Tony’s direction, because Captain America is straight, most likely, or at least isn’t attracted to Tony. He can’t help Tony’s lifelong crush on him, which is complicating this situation way more than it needs to be.

Tony’s not going to sleep with Steve just to save himself. He’s not going to sleep with _anyone_ to save himself. Passing this thing along to someone else isn’t an option. He’s not that much of a coward.

In the end, he doesn’t deck Steve or kiss him, both probably being for the best. He just steps back and away, and turns back to the workbench. “No means no, Rogers.”

“Tony.” Steve’s voice sounds raw. “I can’t protect you. I can’t see it. I can’t touch it.”

“In case you missed the memo, I don’t need you to protect me, Steve.” Tony laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Been doing it myself for forty years, even aside from Iron Man. I think I can manage.”

“Manage what?” They both spin to stare at the doorway, but it’s just Barnes, standing there. He waves, a ridiculous little gesture that actually makes Tony laugh again, a little hysterically this time.

“Taking care of myself,” he says, and Barnes steps over the steel threshold into the workshop.

“Thought that was what this whole ‘together’ thing was about,” he says, making the air quote motions. Tony stares. Steve glares at his best friend.

“Who taught you that?” Tony wonders. Barnes just shrugs.

“You got a plan?” he asks, spinning the taser around in his palm. “Or are we just gonna sit around tasing everything that comes through the door?”

Tony looks down at the workbench, and then up at Steve. “Actually, I do have a plan. But it’ll take some time to pull everything together.”

“Okay.” Barnes nods, and his eyes tick to Steve. “Rhodes had to run an errand.”

Steve’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t question that. Probably he doesn’t want to know, anyway.

Tony claps his hands, and then rubs them together. “Well, if we’re doing this together, then you two can help me out.” He sends them both a smile that is at least partially as confident as it appears. “Super soldiers are good for heavy lifting, right?”

Barnes snorts and looks sidelong at Steve, who folds his arms but doesn’t argue.

An hour or so later, Tony’s finished machining his project, and he’s laying it in place with Steve and Bucky’s help; he’s no weakling, but he can’t lift a few hundred pounds of copper alloyed plating like it weighs nothing at all. He’s also not complaining about the scenery, nor will he ever bother Natasha again about finding Steve some shirts that fit.

Well, let’s be honest. He’s never bothered her about that, because that would be a crime against humanity.

The plan is about the best he can think of. The thing always walks- it doesn’t fly, it doesn’t hover, it just seems to walk at the same slow, inexorable pace towards its target. When it reaches them, well, Tony doesn’t know what happens then. But it’s undoubtedly not good, and probably death-inducing, so he’s inclined to avoid it.

Which he will. One thing he always has on hand is raw materials- he can’t be a genius inventor, nor can he keep the suits maintained, without an adequate stock of materials he might need. And in this case, he has more than enough copper alloy to suit his needs. Specifically, to fabricate metal plates to cover the center of the workshop floor, ones that can conduct an enormous amount of electricity.

He’d thought of other ideas, of course. The metaphorical dropping a toaster in the bathtub seemed like the best idea, but he has no desire to get as close to the thing as a bathtub would entail, and there’s the small matter of getting himself out of the water. He’d briefly thought of using the swimming pool downstairs, but the sheer amount of the water would dilute the current until it wouldn’t even electrocute a human, much less… whatever the thing is. No. He has the most advanced technology in the world, and that’s including the arc reactor that powers the Tower. He’s going to fry it to a crisp.

They’ve got the plates in place, Tony having left himself a safe spot in the center of the ring of copper. He’s wearing the suitcase suit, and he’s prepared to hover as soon as they power up the trap. Now they just have to wait for the thing to show- and also for Rhodey to get back from his ‘errand,’ which seems to be taking a bit longer than expected.

JARVIS shuts off the music to announce Rhodey's return. Tony looks up, briefly annoyed by the quiet until he realizes what it means. "You left me alone, Honeycomb," he says in greeting as Rhodey walks in, gauntlet clamped around the arm of none other than Tiberius Stone. "Ooh, but you brought me a present. You're forgiven."

"Oh good, I was so worried." Rhodey hands Tiberius off to Steve and steps out of the War Machine suit, setting it on sentry mode. Tony urges it off the plating- no need to have War Machine become a casualty of possibly-supernatural electrocution.

Steve sits Tiberius down on one of the spinning chairs and looms over him. "So this is Tiberius Stone?"

"In the cowardly flesh." Tony picks up a wrench and swings it, smacking it against his palm. "Nice to see you, Ty. How've you been?"

Ty looks drawn, his skin so pale it looks gray. "You haven't found someone. It's still after you."

"Of course I haven't _found someone_." Tony drops the wrench on the workbench with a clang. He doesn't look at Steve, too busy staring at Tiberius in disbelief. "I'm not going to pawn this off on someone else to save my own skin." The 'unlike some people' goes unsaid, but everyone hears it anyway.

Tiberius leans forward, his face in his hands, and his shoulders start shaking. "And what, exactly, was I supposed to do about it?" he asks hoarsely. "Look at me, Tony. Don't you think I tried?"

"I think you panicked," Tony snaps. "And you did the best you could to get out of the situation. Not exactly an uncommon M.O. for you."

"I was scared," Ty says quietly. "I thought, if anyone could deal with this, it'd be the Avengers. You've got the Iron Man suit, Tony. You're here, you're going to fix it."

"You have an astounding amount of faith in someone that you tricked into being tailed by a murderous... whatever it is." Tony folds his arms, staring down at the man who, decades ago, had been one of his best friends, and for a long time his boyfriend. How time flies. "For such a smart guy, you're a moron. You never thought maybe you should call me up, ask for my help? No, no, tricking me into sleeping with you has definitely worked out better. A-plus. Great job. Round of applause." No one claps.

Tiberius drags a hand through his hair. From this angle, Tony notices that it's thinning on top. The rest of him looks nearly the same, but he's a few years older than Tony's own forty-two, and isn't that a frightening thought? Botox and hair coloring will only get you so far. When Ty looks up at him again, his face is drawn, and he looks like he feels all of his, what, forty-six years? He looks old is the point. Tony wonders if he looks that old, too, after everything that's happened since Afghanistan.

Well, if they don't deal with this thing, he won't be looking any older, mainly because he'll be dead, so. Best to get on that.

"I didn't think you'd help me." Tiberius looks around at all of them. "Any of you. After what I did to you, Tony. I didn't think you'd help."

Tony's silent for a long moment before he says quietly, "I would have." He snorts. "You broke my heart when I was eighteen, Ty. That doesn't mean I want you _dead_. Not to mention all the other people that have been hurt by this thing- I assume there've been others? You said something about it going back and killing others...?"

"We all would have helped you," Steve says sharply. "But you tricked Tony instead."

Bucky's silent, while Rhodey looks dubious. Finally he sighs when Tony sends him a look. "Yeah, fine, all right, I'd've helped. Even though he's a dick."

It's Tiberius' turn to sigh, but he doesn't argue. Good thing, because Tony really doesn't think he has grounds to do so. "There are others," he says instead. "Were others. If you don't pass it along in time and it finds you, if it kills you, it starts going back down the list to everyone it's followed before and it kills _them_. All of them. A lot of teenagers, from what I've heard." He looks around and glares at the dubious looks they're all sending him. "That wasn't me! I slept with a woman, she was in her thirties, she left me a note and she disappeared! I thought it was all a prank until an old woman in a hospital gown started following me down the street and kept trying to grab me."

"What did you do?" Steve asks when he pauses.

He shrugs. "Went to church. They thought I was delusional. And then- it started looking like Rumiko." His voice drops almost to a whisper. Tony stares at him and then turns away to fiddle with the wrench on the workbench.

"Who's Rumiko?" Bucky asks in the silence that follows.

"No one," Tony says harshly. And then he immediately feels guilty for saying it. "Someone- we both loved her. She's dead."

The silence is so loud, following that pronouncement, that it's almost deafening. finally, though, Bucky says, "I'm sorry." His voice is rough, but Tony doesn't turn to look at him. He just nods.

"What are you going to do?" Ty asks, the question directed at Tony's back but open to anyone to answer, really.

"Electricity works," Steve says quietly. "Tony's going to play bait and draw it in. He's the only one who can see it, so he'll tell us when it's here. When it steps on the panels, we hit the power."

Tiberius nods, looking down at the floor. He swallows hard, then looks back up at Tony. "I can-" He clears his throat. "I can see it too. I should be the bait."

"It's not coming for you," Tony says, turning back around. "You're safe. Get out of here, go home, and I'll clean up your mess. It'll be just like old times."

"Tony," he starts, but Tony cuts him off.

"No, I mean it's actually coming for me. It'll come for you if it kills me, though, so stay in touch. We might need you after all."

"Tony," Steve says, sounding pained.

"I want to stay," Tiberius says. He looks afraid, but his expression is determined. "If Tony's playing bait, then I can tell the rest of you where it is. You can use me."

Tony bursts out with a "HAH!" at that, but he doesn't explain the context, and aside from a vaguely interested look from Bucky and a worried and frustrated look from Steve, neither questions it. Nor do they offer an opinion, which Tony appreciates, because it is not their business. He knows very well what Rhodey thinks, no need to ask there.

He doesn't want to give Ty the option to redeem himself. Not after the trick he'd pulled to throw this at Tony's doorstep in the first place.

But they can use him. Tactically, it makes sense. He glances at Rhodey, who widens his eyes and shakes his head, and then at Steve. Steve looks back at him for a moment, noncommittal, and then sighs and nods slightly. On principle, no. Strategically, it makes sense.

Tony closes his eyes. He's going to regret this. He knows he is. "Fine," he says flatly. "You can stay. But you stay out of the way." The last thing they need is for this to be mucked up, or they'll have to come up with another trap. It's not going to be stupid enough to walk into it twice. Probably.

"I will," Tiberius says, nodding. He hesitates, and then adds, "Thank you, Tony."

" _Don't_ thank me," Tony says, turning and walking over to the other side of the room. Glaring at Tiberius, Rhodey joins him to help with the wiring.

****

In the end, it’s almost anti-climactic. Almost, if not for the mind-numbing terror.

Tony sits in a spinny chair, wearing the suit and twiddling his metaphorical thumbs. His thumbs aren’t metaphorical, it’s true, but the ability to twiddle them is currently beyond him. That is what he’s ostensibly doing, though.

“Where do you think the world ‘twiddle’ comes from?” he asks the comm link at large. “It’s like a cross between piddling and twinkling. Definitely a word for kids. Maybe fiddling. This is really starting to sound like a nursery rhyme.”

Over the line, Steve and Rhodey sigh almost simultaneously. Bucky says, “Twiddly diddly doo.”

There’s a pause as they all consider this. “Marry me,” Tony finally says.

Bucky hums. “I like redheads.”

“Hey, me too, we can do threesomes.”

Steve chokes. Rhodey just barks a laugh and says, “Tony, come on. Focus.”

“You remember who you’re talking to, right, Honeybear?”

“Unfortunately.”

Tiberius says something in the background from where he’s sitting near Steve. “Stone wants to know how we’ve managed to save the world. Right now I’m honestly not sure- stay on task, guys.”

Rhodey snickers, but they quiet after that, at least until Tony starts humming the Jaws theme. “Da-dum. Da-dum da-dum. Da-” The lights go out, save for the red EXIT sign near the door that Pepper bullied him into installing. “Dum. Okay, that’s just mean. JARVIS?”

_“Emergency power is engaged, Sir. My systems appear to be experiencing some interference. I’m afraid the breaker will need to be flipped manually.”_

“Acknowledged, JARVIS. Can you see anything coming?” Steve asks, his voice all business now.

_“My apologies, Captain, I cannot.”_

There’s movement in the corner of the workshop. Tony turns, faceplate snicking down into place. There’s no sign of anyone in the shop, though; he can’t see anything on the HUD. “I’ve got nothing. Rhodes?”

There’s no response from the comms. He swears, opening the faceplate again, and then he yells, “FUCK!”

Barnes is standing feet away, not quite on the copper plating yet but moving towards Tony. His face is eerily lit only one side, the “Barnes?” he calls. No response again, from the comms or out loud. The darkness seems almost solid, a wall surrounding them in their little faint ray of light.

Barnes keeps moving towards him. Tony can’t see his face, but he’s betting, of course, that the guy’s eyes are sunken, that he doesn’t look quite human, that he’s not actually Barnes at all.

And yet, there he is, Steve’s best friend, walking towards Tony. The guy that killed his parents.

Tony’s hand is lifting and the repulsor is firing before he knows what he’s doing. It doesn’t even seem to hit.

He fires again. And again, and again, and again, and something might be on fire but all he can do is see Barnes walking towards him and imagine that this was the last thing his parents saw before they died, too.

And then Barnes is on him.

He starts pulling, yanking at the armor, his metal hand coming up to drag at the chest plate. Tony yells, shoves at Barnes, but he won’t let go, is clinging like a limpet. A limpet that is trying to bite Tony’s nose off, teeth long, distended and pointed in the unnatural light, and is as fucking strong as the Winter Soldier ever was.

But of course this isn’t actually Barnes.

“Fuck!” He lifts a leg and knees Not-Barnes as hard as he can, but it seems to have no effect. If he wasn’t sure before, he is now. The thing is _fast_ , twisting around him and trying to get a grip on Tony, who unfortunately is not a super soldier, and not as flexible as he wishes he was when he’s in the suit.

It grabs his arm and twists. He fights back a scream as his limb is pulled backward, servos shrieking as they try to fight against superior force and an unfortunate amount of torque. So, instead of pulling against it, Tony steps into it, pushing his arm back with all the force the armor can muster and slamming his elbow into the side of the thing’s head. It stumbles back, and Tony rips the clear cover off the repulsor, slamming the flat of the gauntlet into its face. He fires, the bare wires of the repulsor sending him flying backwards when they make contact.

The thing flies backwards, too, lands beyond the copper plates on the concrete floor, but before Tony can do more than lift his head, strong hands are grabbing him under the arms and pulling him backwards in the suit. He can feel Steve’s breath against the side of his cheek as he pulls.

From the side, Rhodey sends an arc of electricity at the thing, knocking it forward onto the copper. Tiberius hits him too, from another angle, his aim shaky but surprisingly true. Then Bucky steps out of the shadows carrying the shield, and hits it with all of his not inconsiderable strength.

It shouldn’t work. If kinetic energy hadn’t worked, if the fucking repulsors hadn’t worked against it, the shield shouldn’t affect it at all. But it could touch the armor to try to get past it, and maybe vibranium just breaks all the rules, because Bucky must triangulate his blow based on the arcs of the tasers, and the shield hits with a loud clank.

The thing, whatever it is, drops onto the plating with an audible thud. Tony doesn’t know if the sound is audible to anyone else, but in the end it doesn’t matter. Tiberius, stepping back to the wall, flips the breaker that turns the power back on. The lights flicker once, twice, throughout the tower, and then the reactor returns to full power.

Power that’s routed directly to the copper alloyed plates where the thing is currently lying, prone after the hit from the shield.

Unfiltered power from the reactor envelops its body, and suddenly it no longer looks like Bucky. It no longer looks like anything at all, just a bright, faintly human shape with no real color or substance of its own, like the imprint of a sunspot on the back of Tony’s eyelids. He has to squeeze his eyes shut, turning his face away, and he can feel Steve hiding his eyes against the armor’s helmet.

“Shut it off!” Tony shouts after a moment, and there’s a clank as the breaker disengages. A few more metallic clicks and the lights come back on at their normal setting. The floor where the thing had laid is empty, the charred place on the copper the only indication that it had ever been there at all.

Tony slumps back against Steve, the air going out of him in a rush. “Fuck fuck fuck oh God.”

Against his ear, Steve laughs breathlessly. “That’s something like five dollars in the swear jar, Stark.”

“Oh, shut up, Rogers.” Tony can’t help it; he starts to giggle. Manly, manly giggles.

Rhodey looks down at them on the floor and shakes his head, stepping out of the War Machine suit and running a hand over his head. “Well, shit. I guess that did it.”

“Hope so.” Bucky stares down at the spot, and then looks up at Ty, who’s still standing by the fuse box, looking dazed. His eyes go back to the copper plating. “I want a s’more.”

And then they’re all laughing. Tony feels like he can breathe for the first time in days.

At least until he laughs so hard that he’s out of breath.

****

They make s’mores. It’s possibly the most delicious thing Tony’s ever tasted, a feeling that he’s sure is compounded by the fact that he’s no longer in immediate danger of dying, the usual attacks by supervillains aside. They’ve bandaged up all their cuts and bruises, and no one is seriously hurt, even, although marshmallow does have an annoying tendency to stick to Band-Aids.

He’s never used the fireplace in the penthouse before, not since the post-Chitauri remodel, but they all end up sprawled around it anyway. Barnes tries a s’more for the first time and then proceeds to eat five more, seemingly unconcerned about the marshmallow and chocolate covering his mouth.

Or at least he seems unconcerned until he takes out his phone and snaps a selfie. A moment later, he grins. Steve peers over his shoulder and rolls his eyes, snatching the phone from him to show Tony. From S. Wilson: _Come on, man, I don’t need to see that._

Tony blinks at Steve, who hands Bucky’s phone back and just shakes his head. “Like an old married couple,” he mutters. Barnes doesn’t seem bothered by the comparison at all, and not for the first time, Tony wonders what is going on there.

It suddenly ceases to matter to him, though, because Steve settles back on the floor next to Tony, leaning against the couch, and he reaches up to stretch, settling his arm along the couch cushions behind Tony like a teenager. It’s simultaneously sad and charming, and Tony feels a stupidly warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Against the other couch, Rhodey just shakes his head, but he even deigns to offer Tiberius another marshmallow, which Tony figures is the friendliest they’ll probably ever be. “Well, I’m going to bed,” he announces abruptly. He stands, and then pauses, looking down at Steve.

He’s not sure what to say, honestly, but… maybe he doesn’t have to say anything. And so for perhaps the first time in his life, Tony Stark decides not to use his words, and reaches down, offering Steve a hand.

Steve stares at it for a moment too long, but then he reaches up and takes it, letting Tony pull him to his feet. Tony can’t help the grin that spreads over his face, and Steve, the giant dork, hooks his hand in Tony’s back pocket as they head up the stairs to the bedroom.

Behind them, Rhodey groans. “Okay, now _I_ didn’t need to see _that._ ”

****

Steve keeps hold of Tony’s hand all the way up the stairs. Tony’s not sure why he’d expected otherwise; maybe it’s just surprise that Steve’s offer had been genuine, that Captain America might be anything but straight. Then again, he’s known Steve Rogers long enough by now to know very well that the straight-laced Captain America image is completely separate from Steve Rogers himself.

When the penthouse bedroom door closes behind them, he lets Steve’s hand go, lets him walk over to the wall of windows, the artist in him probably admiring the view. Tony wouldn’t mind Steve up here painting, he thinks. He’s private about this space, but he thinks he could be convinced to lower those guards, for Steve.

Probably best not to get ahead of himself. He should check, confirm. Make sure they’re all on the same page here. He’s getting the feeling maybe they haven’t been on that same page for a while.

He gives Steve a minute or two to admire the view before he speaks up, keeping his voice quieter. “Hey, Steve?”

“Mmhmm?” Steve turns immediately, and he’s smiling at Tony. Being the exclusive focus of Steve Roger’s attention is a heady feeling, as it turns out. Steve’s looking at him like he’s a high-security fortress Steve wants to conquer, and wow, that thought went Harlequin romance really fast. Not in an, um… not in a bad way, though. Wow, even his brain is having coherency issues right now.

“I wanted to say thank you.” He takes a deep breath. “For trusting me to handle that on my own. Not that I didn’t appreciate the offer.” Wow, had he, though not in the sense he’s speaking about now. “But it- wasn’t the ideal circumstance for me to accept. If you take my meaning.”

Steve flushes slightly, and then more than slightly. The red spreads over his entire face, and that is a sight. Tony is struck by the sudden desire to see how far down that flush goes. Talking first, though. Talking is important. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do that,” he says. He looks like he might want to look away, but Steve never does that. He faces everything head-on, regardless of the situation. It’s both admirable and frustrating. Kind of gratifying in this case, though. “It wasn’t how I would have asked, if I’d known…” He trails off.

“Known?” Tony urges, trying to be kind about it.

“That you- that you also. Want. With me?” He is bright red, now, the pink flush long gone, and Tony can feel his own ears turning red in commiseration. He swears he was good at this, once upon a time, but this man tosses all his smooth coolness out the window. Literally, in this case- he feels like he’s heating up.

“I do,” he says firmly. No need for anyone to be in doubt about that. “I wasn’t sure if you ever Googled me with Safe Search off- most people do, so I don’t usually bother coming out to everyone I meet, but there’s enough of a mix of partners on there that-“

“I do, too,” Steve interrupts, smiling a little now. Tony falls quiet, nodding encouragingly. It looks like it’s hard to get out, but Steve does, after a moment’s pause. “It was easier, since I liked women the same. When I was small, there were enough people calling me a fairy without me tempting fate. Then… “ He trails off again and shrugs, but he continues. “I met Peggy. Easier to keep it to myself, when there was a woman I could love right in front of me.”

Tony nods. He’d gone the opposite direction, trying to throw his bisexuality in Howard’s face as much as he could, but he can understand why Steve would take that path. No judgment from him. “But that’s different now?”

“Well, it took me a while,” Steve says, amused now. “To get past the part where you drive me crazy and realize that you really drive me crazy, and I love you.” He rubs the back of his neck, and drops his eyes for the first time. “Probably should have told you that before I offered-“

“You love me,” Tony says, his voice strained. “Are you being serious right now? You love me?” He wants to laugh hysterically, aware in the back of his mind that this is not the right reaction to be having. “Are you sure? Me, really? You could do a lot better-“

“Tony.” Steve’s staring at him, looking like Tony’s just punched him in the nose. Tony thinks back over what he’d said and his eyes go wide.

“Clearly I should also have prefaced that by saying that I love you, too.” Steve’s shoulders slump in relief and he covers his mouth. He appears to be laughing. “Okay, in my defense, I thought you knew. Everyone else knows. I’ve been getting pining comments from Natasha for months. And you could do far better, I honestly would’ve thought it would’ve been Wilson if you were turning off the straight and narrow path.”

Steve has sobered, and he’s looking at Tony with an affection Tony had never expected to see directed at him. He won’t argue with it, though. “I disagree.”

“With the Wilson idea?”

“With the idea that I could do better.” Steve crosses the distance between them, puts his hands on either side of Tony’s face, leans in to press his forehead against Tony’s. That affectionate look returns tenfold. “I disagree completely.”

“Oh,” is all Tony manages, staring up at Steve with what must be the goofiest smile in history on his face. And then Steve’s leaning in to kiss him, and he stops caring what his face is doing.

[insert pic #3 here!]

The kiss deepens after a moment, Steve’s tongue sliding into Tony’s mouth to brush against his own in an almost teasing sort of way. He doesn’t move his hands from where they’re resting against Tony’s cheeks, his fingers spanning the sides of his face. Experimentally, Tony nudges him backwards, walking them back towards the bed, and Steve seizes on that idea with enthusiasm. He starts walking back without further prompting, not stopping until the backs of his knees hit the bed.

He sits, tugging Tony’s head down to follow him, and Tony climbs onto his lap, a knee on either side of his hips on the mattress. Steve’s hands slide down over his back and come to rest on his ass, kneading and squeezing, which is extremely distracting. Almost too distracting, because Tony almost forgets something Very Important that needs to be addressed. Well, two Very Important things.

He tears his mouth away, keeps his forehead against Steve’s for a moment. “What if,” he says breathlessly, his chest heaving for air, “what if it’s not really gone. What if we didn’t kill it. I’ll be passing it to you.” He leans in to kiss the corner of Steve’s mouth, which is gorgeous and full and right there, and Tony has no willpower, he really doesn’t.

Neither does Steve, though, apparently, because he leans in and brushes his mouth along Tony’s jaw, finding the sensitive spot at the corner that makes Tony squeak in a very manly fashion. “Team should be back, day after tomorrow,” he says, his voice slightly muffled against Tony’s skin. “If we someone didn’t kill it, we at least hit it hard.” He lifts his face to smile lopsidedly. His eyes are guileless blue pools. “If it comes back, we’ll kill it dead. Together.”

“Uh huh.” Tony narrows his eyes. “Don’t give me that ‘butter won’t melt in my mouth’ bit, Rogers. You are far sneakier than you appear.” 

Steve keeps the act up for a moment and then lets it fall. He lets himself fall, too, dropping back onto the mattress. They hit with a thump, Tony sprawled across him. “If it comes back, I have something in mind,” he says, tracing a thumb over Tony’s mouth. “But I don’t want to wait. This isn’t because of that thing. I- You love me back, Tony. I’ve want this- “ He hesitates, flushes again. “For a long time. And if it means it’ll follow me if it comes back, then I get you safer as a bonus.”

His smile this time is more tentative as Tony stares down at him, considering. “Trust me?” he asks quietly.

Tony sighs. He closes his eyes for a minute, but then he nods, leaning down to kiss Steve gently. “I trust you.”

“Thanks,” Steve whispers against his mouth.

The kiss deepens quickly again, and Tony’s peeling off Steve’s shirt before he remembers the second Very Important thing he’d wanted to ask. “Steve?” he asks into the other man’s neck, in between bites on his pulse point.

“Mmnyeah?”

“Is this… I mean, have you…”

Before he can come up with an adequate phrasing for what he wants to know (Steve’s probably gotten the gist at this point, but who knows- Tony, for one, is not functioning mentally on all cylinders at the moment), the world tilts as Steve rolls them over, coming to rest with his weight on his elbows over Tony. “Done this before?” he finishes.

Tony nods, trying to focus on the conversation and not on how flushed and swollen Steve’s lower lip is, how debauched he looks. “Yep. That.”

Steve grins, looking a bit dazed. Tony high-fives himself in his head. “With a woman, once. First time with a man.”

“Ah.”

“Think you can show me the ropes, Shellhead?”

“You’ve come to the right place, Winghead.”

There’s a pause as they stare at each other, and then Tony starts to giggle. Steve just shakes his head, looking pained, and goes to work on Tony’s shirt. He’s smiling. Tony knows he’s smiling. “Terrible.”

The giggles are quickly turning to hysterics. “Awful. Just awful.”

****

_Two days later_

Steve wakes up late, enjoying the sunlight playing across the ceiling. He likes the view of Tony sleeping peacefully even better, and he just stays there for a while. He can run any other day; this is one of the first mornings he'll get to spend waking up with Tony, and it's worth taking the time to enjoy it.

After a while, though, he gets restless as he always does, his muscles aching to move. He rolls carefully out of bed, padding out of the bedroom and downstairs to the community kitchen. No one's up quite yet, but he doesn't really mind, pouring himself a glass of orange juice and going out on the balcony to enjoy it.

His ears catch the quiet footsteps moving across the living room, but he doesn't turn around. "You're late."

In the window, he can see Tony behind him, stepping out onto the balcony. "I wondered how much you understand," Steve muses, still not turning. It steps closer, raising its arms, reaching out to grab him. "How closely you watch the people you’re not following. If you’re smart enough to do that.”

It lunges. Steve sips his orange juice.

And the air lights up like a prism, the light blinding. Steve, having had some warning closes his eyes and stays very still as the sky cracks with thunder and the creature screams. The rainbow light is overwhelmed by the bright blue-white flash of Mjolnir's lightning, but it doesn't stop. The heat next to Steve grows hotter, brighter, more intense, until it feels like he'll surely be burned, but he stays still, trusting Thor's aim.

The creature starts screaming, at first as though the sound is coming from far in the distance. But the sound grows until it's overwhelming, reaching decibels beyond human hearing.

There's a very satisfying _sizzling_ sound, as though something had gone splat, and the lightning dissipates.

Steve looks down at the small pile of ash on the balcony, then up at Thor. "Thanks," he says, turning back to his orange juice. The glass is partially blackened, though, and he sets it aside.

"Of course," Thor says, coming up beside him and looking out over Manhattan. "I am sorry I could not be here before."

"Little brothers are problematic, or so I hear."

"Indeed." Thor smiles faintly.

Steve glances over at him. "Don't tell Tony."

"I shall not." Thor clears his throat. "If you think he will not notice-"

Steve coughs a little. "JARVIS?"

" _I saw nothing of note beyond Mr. Odinson's arrival, Captain._ "

Steve glances up at the camera. "Thanks, JARVIS."

" _My pleasure, sir._ "

"Ah, I see." Thor throws an arm around Steve's shoulders as they make their way back inside. If Steve goes out of his way to kick the pile of dust on their way, neither says a word. "This shall be as the tale of the kitchen table, my friend. The table that was never in any way destroyed. And has certainly not been replaced. Nor the kitchen wall mended."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Thor."

"Nor I, Steven. Nor I."

They stay outside for a while, watching New York come awake far below, and eventually they head back inside, to find the rest of the Avengers up and about, for different definitions of the term.

Natasha sends them a knowing look and then goes back to scrambling eggs, while Wanda sips her tea and Tony stumbles in, bed-headed and barefoot, only wearing a pair of Steve’s pajama pants. Steve goes over and wraps his arms around Tony’s waist, tucking his chin into the crook of Tony’s neck as the smaller man pours his coffee. He reaches up and pats Steve’s head, though. “Coffee,” he says sleepily.

The patio door slides shut, and the small pile of dust scatters further into the wind, its particles staying unusually close together as the air buffets it towards the East River.


End file.
